It’s Saturday, and I’m wearing next-to-nothing and standing a long line of people that seems to stretch into forever. My best friend stands next to me, and we glance nervously at each other in the hopes that we make the cut. The “regulars” are smiling and waving at each other but send looks of disdain my way. It’s clear that newbies are not welcome. I look further down the line at those behind me and see two girls emotionally arguing with each other over who is going to “get in.” I’m wishing that maybe I’d worn something a little cuter or pulled my pony tail a littler higher, because, if this place is as good as I’ve heard it is, I need to get in.

No, I’m not at the opening of the newest club in the Meat Packing District. I’m in line to secure my spot in a double-header of strength and cardio classes at one of NYC’s favorite health clubs. Only in New York can getting into a workout class be difficult as scoring a VIP table at Tenjune. Feeling like I just passed the velvet rope, I set up my mat and weights for the first class. Naturally, I’ve been sworn to secrecy as to the nature of these classes and the name of the health club for fear that crowds might get even bigger, but I will say this: no man has ever worked me so hard for two hours straight.

The instructor himself made it clear that he favored the regulars, particularly when he singled me out mid-workout and asked me to move to another spot to make room for a regular. I couldn’t be happier he did! Mr. Thang parked me right up front next to him and in between yells of “Work it Girl!” and “Shake it Shakira!” fixed my form, pumped me up and made me sweat. During class number two, just as he was threatening to rip out my pony-tail if I didn’t move faster, I cranked it up to warp speed and “shut his mouth” just like he told me too. I walked out of there feeling like I looked as good as the Madonna body-double who had been working out next to me.

Who cares if my boyfriend had to blow dry my hair for me later that night because my arms were so sore? They were sore because they were toned! In my never ending quest for fabulous, flamboyant men to shape, style and dress me, I had found a surefire addition to my mantourage.

Just like my muscles will get used to the workout, I’m sure the exclusivity will wear off when the next best thing comes along, and, when it does, I might be able to reveal the details. But for now, I’m not willing to risk being shunned from a workout class that’s left me sore and inspired even an entire week later. Word to the wise: If anyone ever asks you if you want to join them for an Ultra Mega Double Class Fat Burner, you better whip out your leotard as fast as you can because, if you’re lucky, you’ll end up where I did. And if you do, I’ll be the regular giving you dirty looks from the front of the line.

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This entry was posted on Thursday, April 26th, 2007 at 1:37 am and is filed under New York City, Beauty, Meatpacking District, Gym. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.